Some sailor’s speak of Fiddler’s Green, where the music never stops and the rum flows free. Some speak of Davy Jones, and how he waits for those whose souls are a dark as the deep. Yet there is one more possible destination for those who sail the seas, home to seamen who deserve neither eternal peace nor damnation. They call it the Penitent Sea.

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The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.

Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.

Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...